


in the cold of the night

by nicole_writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Angst, Day 5: Tears of Fear, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), F/M, FE3H Whump Week, Hurt/Comfort, Light Whump, Mentioned Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Mentioned Miklan (Fire Emblem), Sharing Body Heat, Stranded, Sylvain and his strange fire affinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27868949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes
Summary: The snow is heavy and wet as he trudges through it. His whole body aches with the effort of moving forward and without the racing adrenaline in his veins, Sylvain knows that he would be dead in a snowbank a hundred yards back. Instead, he pushes forward, hunching his shoulders to shelter both him and the woman he is carrying from the snow.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 16
Kudos: 27





	in the cold of the night

**Author's Note:**

> couldn't get my big idea finished for whump week, but i wanted to contribute a bit. I kind of shoe-horned in the theme so it's not a perfect fit, but did my best. i didn't really read this over and it was mostly written in a stress-induced break from school. this one's for day 5: tears of fear.

The snow is heavy and wet as he trudges through it. His whole body aches with the effort of moving forward and without the racing adrenaline in his veins, Sylvain knows that he would be dead in a snowbank a hundred yards back. Instead, he pushes forward, hunching his shoulders to shelter both him and the woman he is carrying from the snow. 

Ingrid shivers and curls into his chest, her eyes fluttering weakly. Sylvain adjusts his arms around her, tightening his grip where it sits around the back of her shoulders and over her knee as he carries her futilely through the blistering white landscape. 

Her arm around his neck slackens a bit and Sylvain stops mid-step. “Hold on, Ingrid,” he murmurs. “You have to keep holding on.”

“T-trying,” she mumbles, her eyes not opening. “It’s so c-cold.” 

“I know,” he mumbles, hiking her closer to his chest as if he could transplant more of his warmth to her. She’s already wearing his thick outer layer and the only reason he hasn’t given her his boots and the rest of his clothes is because he needs to wear the boots to march them through the snow. 

He squints into the distance and finally spots the cliffside that he had been trying to make his way towards. His legs feel like they are weighed down and he stumbles again, nearly dropping Ingrid to the snowy ground. She startles at the motion, tightening her grip on him and Sylvain exhales shakily, slowing his strides to steady himself as he keeps moving forward. 

“We can rest up here, Ingrid,” Sylvain murmurs to her. “We’re almost to shelter.”

She makes a weak humming noise and Sylvain swallows. She feels small and frail in his arms in a way that he is not used to Ingrid being. She has always been his shining star and the one who stands tall and proud in the face of any adversity, but even Ingrid is not immune to being shot from the sky and crashing into a frozen lake. 

If they had waited for Felix as they had originally promised, maybe they wouldn’t be having this problem, but Sylvain had been bull-headed enough to insist that the two of them, plus their battalions could handle the Dukedom incursion at the edge of Gautier lands. Ingrid, of course, had not protested, and now here they are, Ingrid cradled against his chest as Sylvain trudges desperately to a cliffside he can only hope will provide the shelter that they need. 

Their weapons are gone, abandoned to the snow and chaos of battle, and Ingrid’s pegasus is long gone, drowned in the lake where she had been downed, and Sylvain’s mount had fled in the chaos. As soon as she had crawled to the edge of the lake, Sylvain had stripped off his outer layer and shoved her into his tunic. 

They had run for as long as they could, but the movement had only seemed to accelerate the rate at which Ingrid’s energy had drained until she had been too weak to carry on by herself. Sylvain had lifted her up, trying to shield her from the wind with his own body, but even as used to the biting cold of Gautier as he is, he is not immune to the icy winds and the heavy snow that blankets the ground. They had managed to get away from the failed site of the battle, but now they are far enough away that Sylvain does not know how long it will take for someone to find them. 

Finally, Sylvain stumbles forward and almost pitches into the cliff face in front of them. He pauses for a moment, breathing heavily. Ingrid stirs against her chest, twisting her face against his shoulder as she shivers again. Sylvain adjusts his grip on her, pulling her closer and higher, and squints along the cliff’s edge. 

True to his memory as a child, there is a small break in the bank of the cliff that creates a perfect cut into the stone and a makeshift wind shelter where they might be able to huddle out the night and try not to freeze to death. Sylvain nearly trips over himself as he pushes through the last bit of the snow until he can duck under the low outcropping. 

As he tries to bend and keep her cradled against him, his legs finally give out and he tumbles to the snow. Sylvain’s body is exhausted, but he uses the barest shreds of his remaining strength to twist as he falls, landing on his side so that he can catch the brunt of Ingrid’s weight without her slamming into the ground. 

Sylvain grunts and forces his cold, stiff muscles to release his grip on Ingrid so that he can push himself back up to his knees. Ingrid, next to him in the snow, shivers but manages to push herself up so that she is sitting. Sylvain grabs her arm and they slowly crawl, inch by inch towards the most sheltered part of the outcropping. 

He twists, pressing his back against the stone. Ingrid crawls up against him, nestling their shoulders side by side. Sylvain shakes his head and tugs on her, pulling her even closer until he just gives up and lifts her across his lap. Ingrid makes a noise of protest and Sylvain hushes her. 

“We’re both cold,” he mutters, “this is the best way.” 

Learning how to survive in the harsh Faerghus winters is one of the first things that a soldier learns, and Sylvain and Ingrid are no exception to this. Even as children they were taught that the elements will get you worse than any enemy could at a time like this. Protecting body heat has to be their number one priority or they won’t last through the next few hours, much less the whole night. 

They’ve already disadvantaged themselves in the fact that they’ve both depleted most of their energy stores in even reaching the sheltered part of the cliff where they can hunch on the frozen, dirt-packed ground. The outcropping of the cliff provides them shelter from the wind and the snow and with Ingrid curled practically on top of Sylvain, their bodies are pressed together to try and preserve as much heat as they can. 

Sylvain shifts, grabbing for Ingrid’s hands. “Your gloves,” he says, “you have to take them off.”

Ingrid nods and she shakily peels off the gloves. If there hadn’t been all of that chaos back at the lake, Sylvain would have insisted she strip everything she could spare, but due to the direness of the situation, he had forced his tunic over her wet clothes, something that was less than ideal. 

She twists in his grip and Sylvain helps her strip out of the tunic. He holds it in one hand and steadies her with the other as she wriggles out of her own soaked clothing, throwing it off to the side. He doesn’t bat an eye at the skin that she bears and he quickly helps her back into his tunic, tugging her back against his chest. 

Ingrid presses her forehead against his shoulder and her breath is warm through the thin layers that he is left with. Sylvain carefully arranges his arms around her and then he nudges one hand over her shoulder and lights a small flame in his palm. 

“Thank the Goddess,” Ingrid whispers breathing. She leans as close to the flame as she dares without getting burned. 

Sylvain’s fire isn’t as warm to him as it is into Ingrid, but he flexes his cold fingers as best as he can, trying to keep the blood flowing to them. “You okay?” he murmurs. 

“Cold,” she mutters. “Otherwise okay.”

Sylvain nods slowly, lowering his head so that his cheek presses against the top of her head. “Stay close to me.”

Ingrid twists, wrapping an arm around him to pull herself even closer. Her head tilts up and Sylvain’s lips brush against the ridge of her forehead close to her eye and he closes his eyes, pressing his nose against her hair and bringing his small flame closer to them. 

“Are we going to be okay?” she asks quietly. 

Sylvain squints over her head into their surroundings. Theoretically, their battalions will be out looking for them, but there is a good chance that they won’t be found until the morning. It’s a scary thought, but with the warmth supplied by Sylvain’s magic, they might have a chance. 

“We have to stay close and preserve as much heat as possible,” he says. “I’ll keep the fire up for as long as I can.”

One of Ingrid’s cold hands worms between their bodies as she blankets it between their torsos to try and warm her freezing fingers. Her chin tilts up and she frowns. “Shouldn’t we try to get wood or something? So that you can light it? That way you’re not stuck relying solely on magic stores.”

“No,” he disagrees. “The energy we spend looking for something that’s dry enough to light will be energy better saved by staying still.”

She doesn’t look pleased with his suggestion, but she doesn’t fight him. In this type of situation, they’ve both had similar training, but there is an unspoken advantage that Sylvain has over her as he has actually survived a brutal night in the Gautier mountains before. And that had been before he had truly unlocked his affinity for fire magic. 

They stay silent for a little while after that, Ingrid still curled across Sylvain and his arm wrapped around her and cradling a small flame near them. Ingrid’s teeth still chatter occasionally, but her hands no longer feel like ice when they brush against his own skin. Sylvain is already exhausted and he’s terrified that he might run out of magic before the night is over. If it’s cold now in the late evening, it’ll be _freezing_ shortly.

“Can I help?” Ingrid asks quietly. “With anything?” 

Sylvain shakes his head. “Unless you can suddenly make fire, not really.”

She presses her lips together. Like most students, Ingrid had been tested for her magic affinity when she had arrived at Garreg Mach and they had found a leaning towards ice magic, the exact opposite of the element that is useful to them at the moment. Ingrid twists a bit, taking his hand that is not holding the flame and cupping it between both of her hands. Her fingers are warmer now, having been warming next to the flame and the heat of their bodies and Sylvain curls his cold hand in her grip so that she can cover his larger hand with her smaller ones. 

“I’m sorry about Windshear,” he mutters. 

Ingrid had basically raised her mount from a young foal and they had been partners for years and years. The first arrow had pierced his wing above the lake and then the second had taken the pegasus in the chest, almost ensuring that he wouldn’t survive the drop into the frigid lake. Ingrid had been forced to abandon her dear friend in order to save herself. 

Ingrid closes her eyes, giving her head a small shake. “Goddess, we should have just waited. None of this would have happened if we had just waited.” 

Sylvain wiggles his hand until he’s holding one of hers properly. “We don’t know for sure. Besides, if we waste energy thinking about the what-ifs, we’ll freeze to death and then it really won’t matter.”

Ingrid nods and brushes back some of her hair which is still a bit damp. The only reason it’s not completely frozen is because of the flame that Sylvain is holding. It provides them just enough heat that the piercing cold is kept at bay. 

“How did you do it last time?” Ingrid asks quietly. 

Sylvain stiffens. The memory is fresh in his mind, painfully so, but he had been hoping not to prod at it too deeply. He plays dumb instead. “Last time?”

Ingrid turns her head so that they are face to face and she is just inches from him. Her green eyes are wide and she looks tired. There is a faint flush to her cheeks from the cold and Sylvain swallows firmly. With the way that she is staring at him, he will crack if she asks him again. 

“With Miklan,” she clarifies. “It took hours to find you.”

Sylvain drops his head, lowering his chin and Ingrid leans forward, resting her forehead against his in a silent, comforting touch. Their exhales are puffs of white air between them, slow and alternating and Sylvain closes his eyes as the memory comes back to him. 

Last time, he had been a desperate kid who had tried to keep moving until his legs had basically given out. Last time, he had crumpled to the ground under a tree, almost falling into the deep tree well. Last time, he had lit both of his hands on fire based on pure instinct to save himself from the fall. Last time, he had burned through his magic stores so that he had been warm for almost the whole night until he ran out of energy and then he had been half-dead when he had finally been found by the Gautier soldiers. 

There’s still a scar at the corner of one of his eyes from where his skin had cracked and bled when he had cried because he had been so terrified. 

That level of pure, unadulterated terror, Sylvain has felt only a few times in his life. Most of them are related to his brother. A few hours ago, when Ingrid had slammed into the ice sheet over the lake, he had felt that afraid. For the precious half-second where she had been submerged under the water, Sylvain had not breathed. His eyes had burned with tears and he had screamed her name so loudly that his voice had broken. 

“I discovered a magic trick,” he admits hoarsely, wiggling the fingers on the hand holding a small flame. “Any other affinity and I would have died.”

Ingrid’s forehead slides against his until it’s pressing against the top of his cheekbone. Her hand drops his and wraps around his neck, cupping the back of his head as she hugs him fiercely. Sylvain melts into her touch, partially because of her warmth and partially because he is so, _so_ relieved that she is alive to hold onto him. 

She doesn’t ask him to delve further into horrible memories from his childhood and Sylvain just holds her tightly in return, carefully keeping the flame close enough to keep them warm, but not close enough to burn her. 

They stay like that for a long time, adjusting occasionally to move stiff limbs, but the seconds pass painfully and every breath feels like a struggle. Before long, it is dark and the moon is hanging in the sky above them. 

Sylvain is not Annette or Mercedes who are well-trained and disciplined in Reason. He has a basic affinity and enough of a gift to keep them alive, but he is not trained in the preservation of his magical abilities. Because of this, when Ingrid’s breathing slows and she starts to drift off due to her exhaustion, Sylvain’s flame flickers and nearly goes out. 

His body is exhausted and every blink, every breath, every second is a fight to stay awake. He cannot be cruel enough to force her to stay awake. Her dip in the icy water put her in a worse place than him so it is the least he can do to maintain his flame as long as he can to keep them alive for as long as he possibly can. 

He is careful not to let his arm drop against her and burn her, and he positions her, once she falls asleep, so that she is resting against him in a position where he does not have to lift his arm and where he can hear the beating of her heart. He sits there, cradling Ingrid, for as long as he can. His eyelids are so heavy and he is so cold. 

_It is so cold_. 

His fire goes out.

**Author's Note:**

> blame livmoores for the open ending... i was going to tie it up, but i like the possibility here ;)
> 
> if you want something lighter, I'm doing [Fluffcember](https://twitter.com/nicolewrites37/status/1333981988697513986?s=20) on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nicolewrites37) in a mix of Critical Role and Fe3H ships!


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